"The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography."
-- Oscar Wilde

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

The Caped Crusade: Batman and the Rise of Nerd Culture, by Glen Weldon

We should start, as most any writing
about Batman must start, with a
confession. As I write these words, I am
wearing a Batman watch. And, perhaps
more to the point, I own two pairs of Batman socks.

Batman
socks.

I know. I know.

So it is with more than a touch of
self-awareness that we read Glen Weldon’s funny, insightful and lacerating look
at Batman and Batfans, The Caped
Crusade: Batman and the Rise of Nerd Culture. If you are going to read only one book about
Batman and the fanatical devotion he inspires, make it this one. Weldon is the perfect guide through the world
of Batmania: erudite, accessible, and more than a little snarky. Even if you have only a fleeting interest in
either Batman or the hermetic world(s) of fandom, you will find this book irresistible.

Weldon shares my sense of
discomfort, as well as my submission to delicious junk. While Your Correspondent has railed against cultural
decay with a Batman watch on his wrist, Weldon looks at his toy reproduction of
the 1960s Batmobile upon his desk, and wonders what his hardworking grandfather
would make of a 45 year old man gloating over a Battoy. Weldon justifiably dubs us The Lamest Generation, but the good
humor of the jest does not sponge away the indictment.

Weldon works his way through the gestation
of Batman, showing the many influences he co-opted en route to his final realization: TheShadow, Dick Tracy, and
more than a bit of Flash Gordon. He also takes a no-prisoners stance on the
contribution of Batman “creator” Bob
Kane (1915-1998), who, it seems, did little more than come up with the
name. Then, stealing art and layouts and
harnessing the talents of various writers (and more gifted draughtsmen), Kane managed
to mint a fortune in coin through his creation and ceaseless
self-marketing.

Weldon is crystal clear in his
assertion that, as conceived, Batman is a protector of Moneyed Interests; it is
not just tenor and tone that made early Batman the antithesis of Superman, but inherent philosophy, as
well. Kane, a poor Jewish boy from the
Bronx, dreamt of a world of socialites, supper clubs and celebrity, and Batman
delivered that to Kane in spades. Oddly
enough, Batfans tend to find Batman more “relatable” than Superman, arguing
that most anyone can become like Batman though application, discipline and hard
work. Weldon dismisses those risible
fantasies, arguing that one of Batman’s key superpowers is his incredible
wealth. Without it, the entire world of
Batman would be impossible. (Left
unsaid: the strange irony that Superman has steadily diminishing cultural currency
in a world of growing economic inequality.)

Weldon manages to touch upon every
era and incarnation of Batman, from grim avenger in his first-year, to smiling
scout master in the 40s and 50s. His
affection for the 1960s Batman television series is sincere and well-placed;
and he chronicles how much of the Batman material to follow in comics and
movies are a response against that
show and its astonishing success.

The 80s saw the most dramatic change
in Batman: he was more than just a grim avenger of the night, but an
out-and-out violent psychopath. The
comics grew increasingly dark and nihilistic and, strangely, this is the stuff
that hardcore Batman fans seemed to relish the most. Batman fans were serious, and Batman was
serious, and what better way to demonstrate seriousness of intent than a wallow
in testosterone-driven, adolescent nihilism?
Or, as Weldon so wonderfully puts it:

What
these fans saw when they looked at Batman was the object of their childhood
love legitimized. It was as if Winnie
the Pooh had escaped the Hundred-Acre Wood and run amuck on the mean streets of
New York. Where he brutally mauled
Piglet. And ate Christopher Robin’s face
off.

Because
that would be real. That would be badass.

His assessments of the Batman films
are largely spot-on, though Your Correspondent disagrees with his dismissal of
Tim Burton’s Batman Returns (1992),
an arch gothic fantasia that seems to get better every year. Weldon finds most of the Batman films of a
piece – all rather dark and somber, but not necessarily good. His affection for the animated Batman series
is as great as his love for the 1960s show, though motivated by different aesthetics. Weldon finds the animated Batman series to be
the perfect fusion of obsessive, fannish desires, and the good, uncluttered
story-telling necessary for non-obsessives.
More importantly, the animated series gave Batman back to the children,
an audience that the comic book industry turned its back on long ago.

Weldon argues that Batman is very
much an inkblot, and readers and viewers see in him what they bring to
him. He also posits that Batman changes
with the times, and that the Batman of each succeeding era is both a reaction
to, and a comment on, the times that generate him. (In this regard, Batman is very much like Sherlock Holmes and Dracula – a core idea that can be
continually reinterpreted in changing times.)
It is this protean quality that has ensured Batman’s longevity; and it
is a crucial fact that hardcore Batfans seem to miss.

The key beauties of Weldon’s book
are his chronicle of fannish reactions to each new incarnation of Batman, and
how the Internet harnessed fannish power to be a powerful cultural force.

Weldon calls fans Nerds (a handy
shorthand), and non-fans Normals (not quite so felicitous). Nerds see the object of their affections as a
deep and murky pool in which they happily swim, looking for inconsistencies,
searching for new insights in the darker eddies, and creating little fiefdoms within
the turgid waters. Normals want to swim
in a clean pool in which they can see bottom, then get on with their normal
day.

For Nerds, Batman (or Star Trek or Dr. Who or ….. insert the nerdish obsession of your choice here),is more than a comic book and movie property, but a way of life, a
religion. And while they delight in his
cross-cultural (and out-of-fandom) successes, there always remains an undercurrent
of resentment. A Nerd loves indiscriminately,
but jealously. Weldon argues that when mainstream
culture appropriates a source of Nerd-love, he feels as if someone is telling
HIS joke in a roomful of strangers, telling it badly, and still getting a
better laugh.

Filmmakers now attempt Batman at
their peril; as scripts, costume choices and plot points will be endlessly
debated and the film judged (and often executed) on the Web before it’s
released. The proprietary feeling
Batfans have for the Caped Crusader has been largely responsible for the manner
in which the character has been stewarded over the last 35 years or so. In short, the fans have been making the creative
choices, and most of them have been dire.
Weldon believes this is finally beginning to correct itself as greater
diversity in fandom is leading to a wider range of “acceptable” Batmans … but
time will tell.

Perhaps my sole criticism of this
involving and amusing book is that Weldon chronicles the rise of fandom, but
fails to put it into any kind of perspective.
The first Comic-Con in 1970, for example, had some 100 attendees. In 2015, that number was 170,000. What happened to us as a culture and a people
to drive those numbers up so high, and what does it mean today to be a fan of
anything? And if we all love junk … do
we have any passion left for weightier material? Has online technology enabled us to trap
ourselves in a perpetual adolescence?

Tune
in tomorrow [same Bat-time, same Bat-channel; sorry, can’t help it] while we
try to answer some of those questions.

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James Abbott

James Abbott is a California-based writer and arts advocate. His online column The Jade Sphinx (http://thejadesphinx.blogspot.com/) champions the Fine Arts, featuring stories on such concepts as recognizable quality, artistic heritage and tradition, and techniques of the Great Masters.